


Edge of Crisis

by incogneato



Category: Years & Years (Band)
Genre: Gen, M/M, inspired by real quote from real interview, platonic ot3 band dynamics tbh, protective Olly, protective emre, the pairing is so subtle you can read into it if you want or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneato/pseuds/incogneato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Olly's best quality is probably his calmness under pressure." -Emre, MTV Push interview, 2015</p><p>Emre gets seriously injured while defending Olly in a bar fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge of Crisis

The stupidest part was they weren't even supposed to be in this bar.

It was the last night of one leg of their US tour. After this they would get a brief break to go home before they came back to do the second half. They had all agreed ahead of time that because it was only technically the halfway point and not the end, they wouldn’t do any special celebration. Have a quiet drink and high five each other, maybe. Not have a big end of tour party. They would save that for the real end. But then a few members of their backing band met up with some people who invited them out, and in the end Olly, Emre, and Mikey all ended up at a rowdy bar in the middle of America, Olly wasn't even sure where.

Things started out okay at first, it was even pretty fun, to be dancing with all his bandmates and some of the fans who tagged along. But as their big crowd started thinning out when people started getting intimate and leaving with each other in pairs (and threes and fours and more, Olly wasn't going to judge, congratulations to them to be honest), the atmosphere in the bar changed. 

Now surrounded by more strangers than friends, it kind of felt tense and uncomfortable. Olly wasn't sure if he was just entering the paranoid stage of being drunk, which he sometimes got. But it was getting way too late, so late that it was now way too early in the morning, and he thought it would be a good idea for them to leave too. 

He was on his way to find Emre when he felt a hard shove behind his back, causing someone's drink to spill all over him.

"Hey!" he heard Emre say, like he magically materialized when he knew Olly was looking for him.

The guy who had bumped into him says, "This queer spilled my drink."

"What did you say?" Emre demanded.

Olly had a bad feeling about this when he turned. Not that the guy was huge or anything, but something about his body language said he was spoiling for a fight. Normally Olly would not let something like a homophobic slur slide, but he got the feeling that this guy was deliberately saying it to get a rise out of them more than anything, and so he laid a hand on Emre's arm and said, "Just leave it."

"Yeah, listen to your little girlfriend and leave it," the guy sneered.

"You should apologize," Emre said, not backing down. "For what you said and for ruining his shirt."

"Emre, let's go," Olly said more firmly, pulling his arm and then trying to push him bodily away.

But Emre was just as drunk and belligerent as the rest of them, and he pushed back, stubborn as a mule. Olly groaned in frustration and pushed harder, but Emre dug his heels in.

Meanwhile, the other guy kept antagonizing them, calling them both names and reaching out to shove Olly again. "I ain't apologizing for shit. You want to settle this, you settle it like a man!"

With a growl, Emre somehow gave Olly the slip, getting around him to shove the aggressive guy back. 

"Don't!" Olly said, trying to get a hold of Emre's arms and pull him back. "This is stupid! Not worth it, Emre, you idiot!" He frantically looked around for Mikey, hoping he would back him up so they could all get out of there.

Before he knew it, the other guy lunged, knocking into both of them. Olly landed hard on his arse, and by the time he pushed himself back up off the floor, Emre had tackled the other man. They were in each other's arms, wrestling, colliding into the bar counter. The other leftover bar patrons were no help at all, either watching or cheering them on. 

Olly didn't have a clear view but he heard the sound of breaking glass, and then all of a sudden it was like he could see everything in perfectly clear slow motion but he couldn't get there in time to stop it: amongst all the flailing around, the aggro guy had gotten a hold of a beer bottle and he broke it against the bar top, and then he cut Emre with the sharp, jagged edge.

Emre stumbled back in shock, clutching at this throat, which was beginning to stream out blood.

The patrons around them gasped and stepped back while Olly ran forward.

"Shit! Mikey! MIKEY!" he began screaming for their other bandmate while putting his hands on Emre, guiding him towards an empty seat so he wouldn't fall. 

It looked bad but he didn't have time to freak out about it now, he needed to keep Emre's airway clear, make sure he was breathing, keep the wound above heart level and apply direct pressure. Olly quickly stripped off his alcohol covered shirt and tossed it away, then stripped off the clean white tank he wore beneath it. It left him half naked in the bar but he didn't care, barely even thought about it. He wadded up the soft material and used one hand to hold Emre's head steady while using the other hand to press the shirt against the gushing wound in Emre's neck.

There was so much blood, but Olly refused to let himself dwell on that. He focused on pressing down as hard as he could without choking Emre. 

Mikey, meanwhile, had finally made his way to them and was freaking out.

"Call an ambulance," Olly instructed him, voice steady. He told him the name and address of the bar, which Mikey repeated to the emergency response operator on the other end of the line.

Emre's mouth worked and Olly immediately told him, "Don't try to talk. Just keep your head up and your eyes open and focus on breathing."

Emre did what Olly told him for once. Mikey came over and knelt beside them, telling them the ambulance was coming, and then holding Emre's cold hand tightly when Olly told him to because he had no free hands to do it himself.

When the ambulance came only one of them was allowed to ride with him, and Mikey pushed Olly on, assuring him he would find his own ride from someone somehow.

At hospital, they took Emre in for surgery right away. Mikey wasn't there and Olly had no idea how long it would take him to arrive, or how long Emre would be in surgery. He stood there covered in his best friend's blood, all over his hands and up his arms, all over the shirt that he had used as a bandage and then hastily put back on when he realized he couldn't stand around the emergency room lobby topless. He was practically dripping with blood, Emre's blood, and his adrenaline was crashing.

Luckily he looked so pathetic that a nurse took pity on him and gave him a clean shirt no one ever claimed from the lost and found and showed him where he could take a shower.

Olly cleaned himself mechanically, taking a moment to breakdown and cry for about five minutes under the hot water. He prided himself on his self control when he pulled himself back together and managed to wash his hair and dress himself in time to meet Mikey, who had arrived after a girl at the bar felt bad for standing to the side and watching it happen, and offered to drive him. 

Later, Emre's surgeon told them that he was very lucky and only veins were damaged, no arteries. She praised Olly's quick action, which prevented Emre's body from going into shock before he reached hospital. 

"Can we see him?" Olly asked.

They let him and Mikey into where he was recovering, but only if they promised to be very quiet because there were about five other patients in the room, all recovering from their own surgeries.

Mikey drew the curtain closed around Emre's bed so they felt like they were cocooned in a private bubble of their own world. Olly sat down in the only chair next to the bed. Emre's eyes were closed, still knocked out from the anaesthetic or possibly sleeping off his massive blood loss. There were lots of tubes hooked up to his arm, replenishing him with blood and other liquids. Olly took his hand and held it gently. When he looked down at their linked fingers, he could see a little bit of dried blood left under his fingernails that he missed when he was washing, and that was what set him off. His eyes stung and he could feel tears welling up, and then he couldn't help it, he began sobbing softly.

The reality of the close call they had caught up with him and he couldn't stop crying about how badly this could've turned out. He felt rather than heard Mikey move up behind him to rest a comforting hand on his back. 

He didn't know how long he cried for, but when he finally stopped Emre was awake and saying, "Hey, don't cry, it's okay."

"It's _not_ okay you utter prick," Olly said, voice watery. "Don't you ever dare do that again."

"I won't, I'm sorry," Emre promised. His voice sounded terrible, like someone had cut his throat open, because of course someone had. "Hey. I heard you saved my life." He smiled at Olly and gave his hand a squeeze.

"Yeah, and I'll take that life away if you ever pull a stunt like that again." In contrast to his words, Olly picked up Emre's hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.


End file.
